


Jealous

by KingOfFanfiction



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Don't worry, I do that a lot, I love tagging, Jealousy, M/M, Narry - Freeform, and harry was a bitch about it, basically they broke up, broken!narry, but he kind of regrets it now, minor F/M, no happy ending, v minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:04:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfFanfiction/pseuds/KingOfFanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's not jealous, he really isn't.</p><p>He's just sad. He's just angry. He's just delirious.</p><p>He's /not/ jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> I received a prompt on Wattpad, so, yeah.
> 
> Prompt: Hi! I was wondering if you're not busy, could you write a prompt based off of the song 'Jealous' by Labrinth and could you make it Narry. Please. Also I love all your works because I don't know they're just amazing!!! Lots of love to you!! - lolr20
> 
> I seriously panicked over this prompt, but she/he liked it, so, yay!(?) Listen to Jealous by Labrinth while listening for the best experience!

Over the span of their relationship, Harry's learned that Niall's not good at finishing things in eleven minutes. He's not good at sitting still for eleven minutes, he can't finish a marathon in eleven minutes, he can't stop talking for eleven minutes.

But, Niall could do something in eleven minutes.

Niall could shatter Harry's heart in eleven minutes. Eleven mere minutes. Seconds enveloped in an apology - a crude apology that meant splitting in half. Ten minutes ago, they were one. Nine minutes ago, they were together. Five minutes ago, they were in love. But the past is the past, and the present is now, and Harry wishes to go back to yesterday.

Yesterday when Harry loved Niall and Niall loved Harry; not the one-sided today. Harry desperately wants to go back to the loved yesterday.

Niall looks like he's sad, sad for Harry, but not sad for the relationship he's destroying. Tears are gathered in his eyes, but he's not impacted; he wasn't emotionally invested like Harry was. His eyes glisten, his fingers knead together, but he doesn't cry. He doesn't weep over the memories that will soon fade to grey. He's fine, he just pities Harry.

"I really am sorry, Harry. I'm so-"

Harry flinches and looks up at Niall, "There's nothing to forgive."

Niall bites his lip, and the tears cascade down his cheeks. His tears roll into his nose and down to his lips; Harry has always thought he cried like a girl. But he is a _beautiful_ crier. The sun reflected in the broken fragments in his tears; eyelashes highlighted like constellations over a fanned out sky, and cheeks illuminated in the wet tracks.

Harry had wished Niall everything lovely in the world, happiness and prosper. Love and warm smiles. Golden sunsets and chilled rain on Winter mornings.

"There's nothing you can forgive." Harry stands with a bitter, tainted tongue. He hears Niall break, the quiet whimper of sorrow, but he remains steady. His shoulders are squared despite the tears spiraling into his neck, and he steps out of the cafe and into the crowded street without hesitation.

He wishes nothing for Niall now, nothing but heartbreak and sorrow and misery.

__ _

It's a Thursday, the longest day that Harry hates. Thursday's are sedated and grey - _melancholic_. Tonight, Harry meets with his heart that's heavy with sighs.

Rain cascades down his windows, the drops gathering at his windowsill before overflowing and spilling over; it's a cycle. A torturous cycle. Harry thinks of Niall, thinks of him until it hurts, and he collapses. But the darkness reminds him of Niall, reminds him of the dark blue of his eyes and the dark brown of his roots. Niall was dark, but his insides shimmered with light.

He'll find himself thinking of Niall again - how Niall was beautiful; how Niall was like the rain.

Harry is jealous of the rain.

He wonders if Niall is out in the streets right now. He wonders if Niall purposefully left his umbrella at home so that he could huddle close to a new love interest - exactly what he did a week after they started dating. He wonders if they're snogging in the streets, shadows watered down and rain seeping through their lips and through their teeth to land onto their tongues. He wonders if Niall is smiling; if he's happy.

Niall is happy because of the rain.

He's jealous that the rain falls upon Niall's skin. He's jealous of the rain that closes around Niall's eyelashes and contours his wrists. He's jealous of the rain because it's closer than Harry's hands have been in months.

Harry's sad.

That's all.

__ _

Harry nearly chokes on his curls the next week from the wind.

The wind that billows up his shirt and around his jacket. The wind that tousles his curls into his mouth. The wind that cuts his skin in sharp slivers, but it's the same wind that caresses and coddles Niall.

The wind that ripples through Niall's shirt and around to hold his neck. It's the wind that churns in Niall's gelled back hair. The wind that soothes over Niall's cheeks and lips; the wind that makes a hurricane-home in Niall's eyes. Harry tries to imagine Niall embracing the wind like he used to. He can still see Niall throwing his head back, arms spread out, and smile large on his face at the wind.

Harry would be Niall's shadow during those days; he'd be the cast for Niall's shadow. Harry made Niall embrace the wind; he made Niall love the wind. He casted the _perfect_ shadow for Niall, influenced him to love the waking environment that is felt but unseen and unheard - the invisible touch of love.

And now, Harry despises the wind. Because the wind is closer to Niall's spine, his heart, his eyes, than his shadow is.

Harry isn't jealous, _he isn't_. He's angry.

That's all.

__ _

Harry's lost track of all of the nights he hasn't spent with Niall. The nights where he'd curl into Niall's side, fingers braced against each other, eyes imploring, and breaths memorized. All of those nights have disintegrated and been forced down Harry's throat to swallow. (Harry thinks it tastes like a numbing medicine.)

Harry wonders if Niall has gone home with a new love interest to lie next to. He wonders if that person cradles his head as Niall shares his love - the love Harry used to have - against their neck with the ghost of fingertips. He wonders if all of Niall's love is being drained into the person's eyes. He wonders if Niall can see Harry in their eyes, in their hair, in their hands, or in their little quirks.

Harry's jealous of them. He envies to be in their place. He wants to cradle Niall, he wants to hold him in the sheets, he wants to be there for Niall; he just wants Niall again.

He's jealous of the empty love that used to be plentiful. He's jealous of the love that used to be his; now it's gone to be shared with someone else.

Harry's just delirious, that's all.

(He's _not_ jealous.)

__ _

Harry twists in the sand. The Goddamn yellow jumper is irritating his skin, the prickly fabric rubbing his skin raw. The sun is beating down on him; the sweat that prickles at his brow makes him cringe. He tries to pull the collar of the jumper lower, but that makes the back of it press further into the patches of raw skin.

Harry sinks further into the sand with a disgruntled sigh. Nothing is going his way. Today was supposed to be a day of relaxation, an ease of the mind, but his past has decided to play a foul game with him.

Niall stands far from him, far enough to where Harry can't see his eyes. (Harry is grateful for that because if he could see Niall's eyes - the crystal pools of _affection_ and _betrayment_ \- he'd find himself falling in love again.) Harry can see the outline of his body; he looks so small and pliant from his spot in the sand. He can see his prominent ribs through his soaked t-shirt, his thin, calloused fingers, his pale skin - Harry inhales theatrically and digs his hands into the sand.

Niall is smiling, teeth shining and lips pulled back, at a woman next to him. Harry wonders if that's the woman that lies down next to Niall every night. He wonders if she's the one that gets to hold his hand in the streets, if she's the one that gets to kiss Niall's lips like Harry did, he wonders if that's the woman that is a better _him_.

Harry sifts his fingers through the sand as the two splash in the water. The sand engulfs his hands as quick as it slips through his fingers, and Harry thinks of the sand as a twisted metaphor connected to Niall. Harry finds his hands digging into the sand and pressing it into the crevices of his fingers, desperately trying to hold it in his palms. Trying to feel it once more.

He can hear the faint burst of Niall's laugh, and the joyous melody reminds him of the bold colour of his jumper.

His Goddamn yellow jumper that he wants to tear apart. He's deliberately tugging a finger through a hole in the fabric before he can stop; his teeth grinding together. He's not jealous. _He's not, he really isn't._  


Harry tries to remind himself. He tries to encourage himself. _He's not jealous_ , he presses the statement into his tongue and into the crown of his head.

He's just sad. He's just angry. He's just delirious.

But he is jealous, and he shouldn't be. Because true love is wanting the happiness and love for Niall, even if their source isn't from Harry. If his love has turned sour and has rot into jealousy, that means his heart was never in the right place to love Niall to begin with.

Harry thinks it's easy to say nothing can be forgiven, but it's tremendously hard to actually mean it. He wants to forgive Niall; he wants to invite Niall back into his life.

But he can't. Because he's jealous that Niall's happy without him.

He's not sad. He's not angry. He's not delirious.

He's just jealous.

And that means that he never really loved Niall in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for any grammar errors that are drifting along in this (super) short one-shot. Unfortunately, I don't have a beta reader, and the only program I have to detect grammar mistakes is Grammarly, so it's a tad bit hard. Henry, my laptop, sometimes picks up on spelling errors, but not always.
> 
> (if you know someone that could beta read, hmu)


End file.
